


Misadventures of Heroes

by AyaHalloway



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Drabbles, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:01:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyaHalloway/pseuds/AyaHalloway
Summary: A possible series of interconnected drabbles based in my "canon" verse for the dragon age games. These are going to be mostly unedited because I just don't feel like it since I'm using these to get out of my awful writing slump.





	1. Zayn

**Author's Note:**

> I've got so many ships that I plan on working with, but this is not one of them. Zayn's just being an ass to Duncan because he's a salty bitch who doesn't know how to talk to people.

“Are you going to continue to be difficult?”

The elf Duncan recruited was currently laying on his back. Stubbornly crossed arms folded over his lean chest as he refused to move from the bedroll.

“I’m not being difficult I’m asleep. And here I thought grey wardens were meant to be heroes, heroes need good amounts of sleep too. Darkspawn can’t be defeated if one can’t even be awake to stop them.”

Duncan only stared down at the boy. The elf’s face a rather convincing mask of sleep.

“Normally those who sleep don’t talk back.”

“Weaklings they are.”

Had the situation not been so dire, the elf’s resemblance to Alistair in his wit would have brought a smile to his face. For now he simply tried to find a way to drag the petulant mage to Ostagar. 

“I don’t understand why you are making this so difficult. You cannot return to the mage tower. You would be executed, or worse. You best chance to go back at all is to earn it by fighting with us.”

“I’m aware.”

The elf sighed, and finally his eyes cracked open to glare at him. Again, Duncan was struck by the color. A blue, flecked with gold and greens that shimmered like sunlight on a fresh water stream. Elves, as a general rule, as rather brilliant eyes, reflective even. Of the few elves he knew personally, however, none had the intense shade, or seemingly slitted pupils. They were framed by soft curling lines, stretching from the tip of his nose upwards like the branches of a great tree, similar in color to his eyes. 

Which was another odd thing about Zayn Surana. Duncan couldn’t remember ever hear of a Dalish living in the circles of magi, much less one that didn’t want to leave. Perhaps, were he not a grey warden, he might be more curious as to the man’s origin story. Alas, all he cared was the that the wild youth made it to Ostagar and joined their ranks before the bulk of the horde destroyed them all.

“If you are aware, then stand up. We still have a ways to walk.”

“Fine.” But Zayn still did not move. Staring instead up into the great expanse of the sky. Far off in the distance, the mage tower still barely visible.

Duncan waited. He could understand if he missed the tower. A home, beloved or not, was not an easy place to leave.

“... It still looks like a penis.”

Duncan stared down. 

Zayn was staring back.

Finally, Zayn sighed and slowly lifted himself from his bedroll by the fire. Long black hair, painstakingly braided into countless locks tumbled forward and created an imperfect curtain while he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

Just as Duncan was beginning to relax, perhaps they would make it in time after all, Zayn tilted his head. His hair was brushed out of the way and the dangerous glint in the elf's eyes had duncan on edge.

“You keep staring at me.” A long finger delicately traced a line down the dark skin of his neck. “See somethin’ you like?”

Duncan’s mouth pressed itself into a flat line and he said, “If you have energy to joke, you have the energy to walk.”

A laugh, wild and full of mischief was the response, and once again Duncan found himself studying the young man. Had he not seen the fury, skills in magic of the likes he had never seen, and the instinctive protectiveness during the attempt to free Jowan and Lily from the Circle, Duncan might have believed Zayn’s ruse. As it were, he felt only a faint sense of sympathy.


	2. Powerful Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair isn't jealous. That's his story and he's sticking to it. Also hi I made myself sad. Also also, Cailan is bi as fuck and everybody's gonna have to pry that from my cold dead hands.

“Oh don’t look now, trouble’s on the way.” 

Alistair watched with fascination as Zayn’s face cycled through the stages of grief. Normally, he was the one dreading time spent in the presence of his perfect, too-pretty princely half brother. (Okay so he was more of a king, and he was a decent man sometimes. But it still irked Alistair.) To his relief and delight, the fast elven friend he made in Zayne Surana, was just as annoyed by Cailan as he was.

Unfortunately for them both, Cailan seemed every bit as interested in being friendly to the only person in Ostagar that was willing and capable of graceful backhands, or blunt honest, or (Alistair’s personal favorite) exasperated sass of how wrong everyone was doing everything and exactly how to fix it. It was so annoying that they shared an interest in the same man, but the good king was unable to take a hint and realize that Zayn preferred spending time with him instead.

“If I have to listen Loghain bitch about this later...” Alistair hid a snicker under a cough.

As fascinating as Zayn was to them, and many of the wardens, and the elves, Loghain and Zayn despised each other. They avoided each other like plague ridden rats, and when forced to share breathing room, they tended to spend more time snapping at the other’s battle plans than actually planning. With Loghain questioning him at every turn, and Zayn happily stabbing holes in Loghain’s in return. Truly, they loved to hate.

As for Cailan, he sought out Zayn’s company whenever he had the chance. Dragging him to his meetings, having him talk to the various different parties in the war camp (for Zayn was, in fact, incredibly persuasive when he wanted to be). Annoying both Loghain and Alistair for, well, not similar reasons, but annoying them all the same.

“Ho friend! Good day to you wardens!” And there he was, in all in royal regal glory. 

“Cailan.” Another thing Alistair liked about Zayn, he only ever graciously nodded his head in greeting. Like equals. He never deferred to the king, despite being an elven mage. Alistair internally applauded him for doing what he couldn’t.

“A fine day for-”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries yes? What miserable task do you want me to do this time? We,” Zayn said, propping a hand on his elegant hip and jerking his head in Alistair’s general direction. “Were going to go eat.”

“Just to talk with such pleasant company as yourself.” Cailan offered one of those heart melting smiles that had most women sighing for days over his rugged good looks and warm kingly aura. Yet only made Zayn grunt in annoyance.

That was the other weird thing. Alistair couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but Cailan constantly complimented him too. On his shoulder-length braids, or the blue of his eyes, even once said he had the voice of a bard when he managed to sway a squabbling Templar and mage into a compromise. Alistair thought Cailan must be losing his grip- who even compliments someone on their voice?

“No really what do you want?”

“No really, just to talk.”

Zayne was squinting, suspicious. And rightly so! Alistair believed. 

“Oh, alright. There were some plans I wanted to discuss with you. Preferably alone.” 

“Ugh. I knew it.”

Still, in these past few months he had come to know Zayn. The man was as honorable as they came. Regardless of how trivial the matter, his friend would reach out to try and fix the problem to the best of his considerable abilities. 

So Alistair isn’t the least bit surprised as Zayn turned to him with an ever suffering, apologetic, look and said. “I’ll join you later?”

“If he keeps you up past your bedtime, leave him to the Loghain’s tender mercies. Then mine, cause seriously, who’s going to count how many bread loafs I can stuff in my mouth without you there?” 

“I know! The tragedy of it all!” Alistair grinned as he pointedly ignored Cailan’s pout in favor of his friend’s bright cackle.

Had anyone asked, Alistair would have told them he’d rather let the dogs slobber on him again for six weeks straight than be king. He still felt that way. Down to his very core. A king had to be responsible for everyone. He wouldn’t wish that kind of horrible fate on anyone. But, though he told himself he wouldn’t, he turned to sneak a glance as they walked away. Zayn was every bit as regal, every bit as self confident as the king. Like he belonged in a position of power and, by the Maker, he was _good_ at it.

Not wanting to be king didn’t do anything to make him feel any better about finding himself left behind by powerful men again.


End file.
